


take me out of myself again

by ElasticElla



Series: summer spectacular [2]
Category: The Get Down (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, M/M, Minor Mylene Cruz/Ezekiel "Zeke" Figuero, Past Relationship(s), Season/Series 01, Zeke-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-11 01:31:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15304461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: It happens on a day like any other. The five of them are lazing about Shao’s place, high as the heavens, when Zeke catches himself staring at Shao. More specifically, at his mouth.





	take me out of myself again

**Author's Note:**

> no way another tgd fic with a title from kiwanuka's rule the world X)  
> the prompt was something happy, so lmao winding back to season one

Love isn’t enough. 

It sounds like the beginning of a new thing, blasphemous beneath his fingertips. He was ready to sacrifice everything, anything for his red velvet queen. For another taste of her sweetness, for a future with the two of them united. Sure they’re young, but it never felt like a dream before, always a destination they’d eventually reach. 

But then Mylene said she didn’t love him, couldn’t be with him. 

And even if the first part isn’t true, the second is and the second is what breaks him. The second is a choice, a choice for a life without him at her side. (It’d be easier if he could hate her, easier if her ambition wasn’t one of the many things he loved about her.) 

Zeke pulls the words from his mind, like dragging a pick through his hair and ripping the letters free. Feelings bleed out too, catharsis is never an elegant process. 

He writes and writes and writes, and one day soon he’ll be able to meet her eyes again without remembering what could have been. 

.

“What ya got for me Books?” Shao asks, plucking the notebook from his fingers. 

“Ey! That’s not done!” Zeke exclaims, trying to snatch it back. The Kipling three are laughing, smoking and no help at all. 

Shao holds him off with an arm, reading aloud, “ _Still wake with your phantom touch, your touch that had me most high_ \- Shit Books, tell me it ain’t all this.” 

Zeke finally grabs the notebook back before Shao can flip through and confirm it, stuffing it in his pocket and cheeks burning hot. “That’s not a fantastic four plus one.” 

“No shit,” Shao mutters. 

“Love is a many faced beast,” Dizzee says, lighting up a new joint. 

Shao clasps his shoulder, “Write something for us, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Zeke breathes, the question hitting him harder than it should. 

“My man.” Shao beams at him, before turning to Dizzee, “You better be passin’ that Rumi.” 

And as conversation turns to Dizzee’s latest pieces, how he’s been using Shao’s gifted paint, Zeke thinks yeah, he can write something brand new. He even should. 

.

Can and should are miles from does and Zeke knows the feelings he wants to replicate, but none of the words are coming together right. The words used to just flow, or maybe he was always thinking of Mylene in the background, so the ideas were already half-formed. Instead of pauses between lines, there’s huge gaping holes and a start and a finish and a vast emptiness that stares back. 

He tries smoking and drinking and kisses a few girls he doesn’t know. He even manages not to compare them to Mylene until later, alone in his bed, summer heat sticking to his skin. They don’t inspire, not like she did, but that’s not a fair comparison. He doesn’t know them, and it wasn’t until he heard Mylene sing that he fell in love. To liken strangers to her is useless, cruel even- making him the most arrogant of artists. 

(As if he wasn’t already. As if he wasn’t already convinced the world needs to hear their sound, their words, their story. A narrative he hasn’t even crafted yet.) 

He doesn’t bother kissing strangers again. A few nice moments aren’t worth the headache or internalized arguments. 

.

And then one morning, he wakes up on Shao’s couch and writes and writes and writes. He isn’t sure where it came from, but he isn’t analyzing that now, has far more important things to focus on. 

It feels like thousands of words pouring from him as he fills up half the new notebook with block letters. He’s so into it he doesn’t notice Shao waking up or sitting across from him. Not until his mind is calm, until his hand stops frantically writing does he look up and see. 

Shao grins at him, “My wordsmith back?”

“You tell me,” he says, tossing him the notebook. It feels damn good to be writing complete things again, rhythm and rhyme infusing his very being. 

“Holy shit Books.” 

“Yeah?” Zeke asks, happiness bubbling up his chest. No matter how many words he hammers together, there’s always that slight doubt that maybe this time he fucked it up. 

“Yeah.”

.

It happens on a day like any other. The five of them are lazing about Shao’s place, high as the heavens, when Zeke catches himself staring at Shao. More specifically, at his mouth. More specifically, at the way his lips close around a joint. More specifically, at the teasing flash of pink tongue when he exhales.

He shakes himself out of it before the others notice, hopefully. But he can’t shake off the images or the thoughts that follow. 

That’s the afternoon he starts to fall in love with Shao, rather than only love him. 

.

Ra-Ra notices because Ra-Ra knows him too well, recognizes all the signs of a Zeke falling in love. (It’s only happened three times, but Ra-Ra’s been there for each of them, his first and best friend.)

“So you gonna make him your boy?” 

Zeke is unfortunately drinking water when Ra-Ra asks, spits it out all over the grass. 

“Don’t- I don’t know what you mean.” 

Ra-Ra rolls his eyes, “Oh come on, don’t play me. I’ve seen the way you look at him.” 

“Damn it.” 

Ra-Ra shrugs, “He looks at you the same way. So…?” 

“So what?” Zeke bites out, a little harsher than he intends. “We can’t- Leon’s already been saying shit.”

“He ain’t your Dad.” 

And ain’t that the truth. 

“Yeah.”

Ra-Ra bumps his shoulder, “No matter what, I’m here.” 

“You’re the best,” Zeke says. 

Ra-Ra grins wide, “Damn right I am.” 

.

It feels like his world has been reshaped around Shao, or his attention at least. Casual touches burn, and he can’t help but yearn for more, lean into Shao’s hands, shoulders, thighs. Every laugh, word, smile that breaks past his mouth feels like a victory. His lyrics are miles from subtle, his heartbeat tripling each time Shao reads them. 

Shao praises him, points out any awkward transitions, mixes new beats for the words. 

It works. It works really damn well, and Zeke should probably quit while he’s ahead. He’s writing, the five of them have really become a team, and they’re going places. 

Whether it’s because he’s greedy or because he’s a romantic first or because he can’t keep circling whatever this thing is with Shao- he tells him. 

Simple words that can’t be misconstrued, nothing lyrical or distracting: “I’m in love with you.” 

Shao’s eyebrows come together, and Zeke’s cheeks burn hot. Fuck, he was so wrong. Shao’s silence on the matter was ignorance not- 

Shao kisses the thoughts right out of his head, the both of them collapsing to the couch. His brain is a mess, can’t process more than the fact that Shao’s kissing him and how good everything feels. Even if all the contact becomes sweaty and too much in the sweltering heat, Zeke refuses to break the kiss, to stop touching Shao. He kisses him deeper and deeper, until the air cycling between them is useless, until he’s lightheaded from more than his feelings. 

“I know,” Shao says, and Zeke’s thrown for a breath. 

“The Mars Wars movie?” he jokes and Shao groans. 

“You damn lucky you’re cute.” 

And yeah, Zeke feels damn lucky indeed.


End file.
